


Saint Cichole Rides Again

by alivedovedoeat



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivedovedoeat/pseuds/alivedovedoeat
Summary: The practical portion of the Flayn Wife Examination.
Relationships: Flayn/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Saint Cichole Rides Again

**Author's Note:**

> From the [ kink meme](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1159132):
> 
> _Seteth/any -- If you want to date my daughter..._
> 
> _...you'd better prove you can keep her sexually satisfied. Dragons have a huge amount of stamina, and he could never allow her to be with someone who couldn't keep up._
> 
> \+ if one of the burlier dudes is trying to get with Flayn and this does not change Seteth's resolve at all  
> ++ if it's one of the ladies, who insists on giving Seteth the strap because it wouldn't be authentic otherwise
> 
> I'm partial to Dimitri, Dedue, f!Byleth or Manuela, but I'm not picky.

“Professor,” Seteth began, twisting the door handle behind him to hear the click of the lock. He exhaled when he heard it and folded his hands against the small of his back. “I believe by now you may have observed a certain recurring pattern; after providing my daughter with individual tutoring or inviting her to tea, you and I will unexpectedly meet. You once observed that on these meetings, I often have leaves or twigs attached to my person. Last week, you asked, in a rare moment of jest, if I was stalking you.

“I must admit that when you made this remark, I was briefly startled, which you may have surmised from my momentary stammering before I collected myself. You see, Professor, your jest was not entirely inaccurate.”

Byleth, regarded him from the couch with her hands on her knees and nodded. She was still.

“Please,” he said, holding his hands out before his face, “please, allow me to explain and I am certain you will understand my position. You see, Flayn is in the midst of what I believe to be a brief rebellious period, one in which she conspicuously rejects the rules and expectations placed upon her and jealously protects her private affairs from familial scrutiny. Such a phase is, as I understand it, to be expected from young people, particularly those who are the exact same age as the rest of your students. I have full confidence that it will resolve itself in a matter of years, and I do not wish to interfere in her development towards a greater independence. Nonetheless, I have certain responsibilities as her father. Flayn, you see, has communicated very little to me about her potential suitors, and so I have had to resort to unfortunately underhanded methods to assess them.

“My observation of your relationship began well before the war, in fact, when you made a special effort to catch a Teutates Herring for my daughter in what I feared might be a scheme to exploit her appetites for your own gratification. In retrospect, I must admit that such an assessment was hasty, and unfair to you. You have been perfectly chivalrous in your relationship with her. As I believe I have mentioned in the past, Professor, my trust in you is complete. I am, as I hope you will understand, reluctant to approve of any romantic relationship she might pursue. Nevertheless, I know she cannot be my child forever. I have no doubt you would make a loyal and devoted spouse to her.”

Seteth seated himself on the couch opposite Byleth. He cleared his throat. “I would not, of course, have called you here simply to indulge in flattery. Such qualities, desirable as they are, are not the only expectations I have of my daughter’s suitor. She has spoken to you, I believe, of our peculiar bloodline, one quality of which is physical stamina far greater than the norm. No doubt you have considered the implications of such a quality, and no doubt it has occurred to you that one so generally tireless would be similarly tireless in matters of,” Seteth’s eyes turned to the floor, “carnal union.”

Byleth nodded. “No,” she said.

“I see.” He had hoped she might anticipate his request. In retrospect, of course, it would be unreasonable to expect this from such a busy woman. “Regardless, Professor, as vulgar as this matter may seem, I can say without exaggeration that compatibility of the body is as essential as compatibility of the heart to a successful match. Though it may be inappropriate to ask for such a thing from a friend, I will need some assurance that your endurance will match her own.”

He folded his hands over his mouth, leaning forward with his gaze fixed down. Byleth stood.

“Seteth,” she said, holding her fist to her chest, “No partner I’ve had has ever fully exhausted me. I will do everything in my power to give your daughter a good time.”

Seteth smiled. “Your sincerity is truly admirable, Professor, and I am greatly reassured to see you approach this with the severity it warrants. Nevertheless, I cannot be satisfied with your assurance alone. While I believe your statement, I am certain that the abilities of our line far exceed any in your experience. It is of a different order.”

He turned to Byleth, meeting her eyes, and set his hands on her shoulders. “Please understand me, Professor. I do not want my daughter’s first time to be marked by disappointment and self-doubt. If I am to grant you my permission to court her, you will have to demonstrate your abilities to me directly.”

“Okay,” said Byleth. “Just let me get ready.”

She made for the door. “Professor, I am not certain you understand,” Seteth called after her. “I mean to say that I will only accept your abilities—” he began to rub the bridge of his nose, “—if you demonstrate them in congress with me.”

“I’ll be right back. I just need to get my strap.”

“I see.” He paused. “That will not be necessary. I intend to evaluate your endurance, not your technique; any position will do.”

“Right. But really, it’s a completely different thing. Uses different muscles.” She gave him a demonstrative thrust.

“I must be frank then, Professor. I have only a cursory understanding of the receiving position. What little experience I may have, I am afraid, is consigned to remote and imprecise memory. It may be something of a chore to begin with.”

“That’s fine,” said Byleth, pulling the doors open. “You said it was her first, too.” She stepped out. “Practice.”

Seteth needed no reassurance that such a demonstration was necessary. He had known it would be from the first romance novel he’d encountered as library censor, in which both parties were satisfied minutes into their union in a single moment of shared release. Seteth was concerned about being understood. A suitor could reasonably claim that such a request was adulterous, overly hasty, or even allow their degree of attraction to Seteth himself to influence their response. It was a relief, then, that Byleth resorted to no such sophism. She did, in fact, care for Flayn.

Seteth had been concerned with fidelity to his late wife, his vows to whom were made in the ignorance of death, when the world was young. He was certain, though, that such sincerity would have pleased her.

Byleth entered holding her strap by the shaft, in its harness, with a bottle of oil in her other hand. “Do you want it on the couch,” she asked, “or over the desk?”

Seteth reclined where he was seated. “I do hope you don’t intend to take my daughter in such discomfort, Professor.”

“Always worth asking.” She hooked her thumb under her shorts, tights, and underwear, working them off as one. “You should turn over, by the way. It’s usually easier to start like that.”

He rolled over, propping himself up by his elbows. From this angle he could only hear the rattle of a buckle, then the couch giving as she positioned herself. She leaned over him, her hands around his waist, chest against his shoulder blades, strap poking the small of his back. He shivered; Professor Manuela had explained her condition to him years ago, but the cold still surprised him.

“Ass up,” she said, and Seteth turned to see a smile and wide eyes. He shifted onto his knees.

“I’ll be starting with my hands, alright?”

“One generally does, as I understand it.”

Byleth pulled his pants to his knees. Seteth’s ass had the bony contours she’d expected of a man with his physique, but, with a squeeze, she noticed that it had some give, complemented by the soft texture of his hair. His thigh, by contrast, was solid, and she admired the curve of the muscle.

“Is this treatment entirely necessary?”

Byleth traced her fingers along his erection, to which he offered no objection but a series of clipped moans. “It’s important to get you ready,” she said.

Byleth slipped her pointer, then her middle finger into the bottle and spread him with her dry hand. She circled his outer walls, moving in, and began to curl her fingers. Then he groaned and clamped down on her, and she stopped.

“Professor,” Seteth said, and she realized the issue as he began, “I mentioned my inexperience, but I cannot imagine that piercing sensation is entirely intentional or orthodox.”

Byleth looked to one side of the room, then to the other. “Seteth,” she asked, “do you happen to have nail clippers?”

“There should be a pair in my quarters.”

She looked to the door, then to Seteth, wrapped around her, panting into the armrest. His hips swayed, unconsciously, from side to side. “Can’t be helped.”

Byleth pulled out of him, brought the two fingernails to her lips and bit. She spit them onto the floor over his head, and he regarded them.

“Most resourceful.”

She positioned herself back at his entrance, moving inwards, slowly, then quite rapidly, until she was almost at the knuckle.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Byleth asked. “I got right in there.”

“I would sincerely appreciate it,” he grunted, “if we could focus on the matter at hand.”

Byleth patted a cheek affirmatively. Inside him, she began to rub, from one side to the other, until she drew a high whine from him and stopped where she was.

“That’s where we’ll focus.” She worked the spot for emphasis.

“The prostate, then,” he managed between gasps. “A fine choice, Professor. If my knowledge of anatomy holds, it is in fact the only place to focus if one wishes to pleasure a receiving male partner.”

“Yeah,” said Byleth, not interested in explaining that men could get pleasured in plenty of positions besides prostrate. “You seem ready.”

“I leave that to your judgement.”

She took him to her hips in one motion, slouching over him in time to see him bite down into the cushion. Her hips began to roll, slowly, at an even rhythm. Quickly, she noticed, Seteth began to match her, bucking into each thrust. “It occurs to me,” he said, “that you are, in regard to my well-being—” he winced, “—more cautious now than as my commander in battle?”

“Harder?” Her head slumped to one side.

“Please, Professor. I ask that you concern yourself not with my comfort, but with the unbridled demonstration of your abilities.” His own pace increased, and Byleth could see the deep furrows in his brow. “For her sake, if not for mine.”

If her friend was this dedicated, Byleth would not insult him by offering anything less. Her pace quickened, feeling the impact of her thighs against his. Her lips met the back of his neck, and the long staccato moan he made spurred her on further. When he gave, fell flat with a hand dragging along the floor, and shuddered as he came, her pace slowed. She began to back out of him.

“There is a handkerchief in my breast pocket,” he said. She leaned over towards the pile and dug it out. Seteth was, by the time she turned back with it, sitting up, pulling his pants from his ankles. He held out a hand and she gave it to him; he wiped himself and the couch down promptly. He exhaled.

“Professor,” he said, “it occurs to me that your capacity to support the weight of a partner is quite relevant to this evaluation. Would you lie on your back?”

She did it, and Seteth straddled her, pulling himself to her lap. She wrapped her hands around his waist and looked to him.

“You need not hesitate. The refractory period for those of our bloodline is almost imperceptible.” He positioned himself above her; Byleth took him by the wrists and thrust.

In that moment of entry, Seteth’s attention was not with the sensation, nor with the woman before him. For the first time in recent memory, it was not with his responsibilities. Seteth pictured, as he had not done in centuries, the elemental days of earliest Zanado. Memories as dim for him as in the mythic history of man stirred. He thought of the days before he had met his wife, before such unions had been conceived, when the children of the Goddess mingled in innocence. Such encounters had no need of a name, but he had borne a name that spoke of them.

These memories carried him to his second orgasm, and to his third, fourth, and fifth.

“Professor,” he said after his tenth, the rhythm of his thrusts unbroken, “I did not mean to deceive you about the extent of my abilities in this position. I understand that this may be difficult for you to believe, but I ask for your trust when I say that, for reasons I cannot safely reveal to you, I was unaware of them until we had already begun. I do believe, however, that my early attempt to discourage you from attempting it was an intuitive recognition that it would be beyond you. This was once, I believe, my preferred mode of intercouse.

“Your hips have stopped moving,” he said, continuing to buck into the still phallus beneath him. “Have you reached your limit?”

Byleth managed a nod.

“I see. Nevertheless, regardless of how we conducted our union, I believe this was a foregone conclusion. Your effort was, of course, appreciated.

“I will not lie to you, Professor. I will be evaluating several other candidates in the coming days.” Byleth covered her face with her forearm. “I believe Flayn may have the beginnings of an interest in Prince Blaiddyd. His retainer, as well; he has been teaching her to cook. Did you know that? Professor Manuela seems to have piqued her interest in the arts—” 

“Seteth—”

“Each of them is entitled to an attempt, of course. However, Professor, it may reassure you to know that your demonstration today has shown me they have not the least chance of success. They will, as you have done—” his voice hitched with his eleventh, “—fail.”

* * *

“Brother? Brother, are you in?” Flayn pulled open the office doors. “Do you recall where you’ve sealed the rejected books from the last intake? I had hoped to know, that I might better avoid them.”

“I see,” said Seteth. He stood at his desk, where Byleth laid bottomless, rubbing ointment around her waist. “Your diligence in this matter is quite refreshing. They are in a niche in the wall behind the first shelf of the folk ballad collection, in the poetry room.”

Flayn covered her mouth and ran to Byleth’s side. “Professor!” she cried. “Have you sustained an injury? Is there anything I may assist with?”

Byleth raised her head, massaging a hip with the back of her wrist. “Just some muscle strain.”

“I see. I am still most sorry to hear it. It is quite fortunate though, that I was able to meet you here.” She smiled, her cheeks reaching her eyes, and Seteth nearly welled up at the display of innocent, doomed love. “I wished to ask if I could accompany you on a fishing trip, on your next day off.”

“Flayn,” said Seteth. “It brings me no pleasure to say that this woman is not worthy of your time or affection. I must insist that you immediately cease all dealings with her outside the scope of your professional relationship.”

Flayn gestured indistinctly at him in the first moments of her outrage before setting her hands on her hips. “Brother, that is a truly terrible thing to say!” She leaned into him, over Byleth. “In her company, no less! Were we alone, I could simply ignore such a ridiculous imposition, but to say it while our friend-”

“I’m sorry,” said Byleth. “He’s right. You’re better off not seeing me.” Flayn noticed that her eyes had gone red.

“Brother! What in the name of the Goddess have you said to the professor to bring her to tears?”

“It is not what I have said to her, it is what I have shown her. She is now conscious of the fact that the two of you are fundamentally incompatible.”

“I’m really sorry. We are.” Byleth began to well up again. “Listen. Sylvain and some of the engineers recently modified a golem with a working member,” she sniffled, “as a joke. I’ll introduce you to it. It’s the least I can do.”

“But I have no interest in being introduced to such a construct, particularly one with such an appendage morbidly affixed to it. Brother, I insist that you apologize to the professor, immediately.”

“I will do no such thing, as I have not committed any wrongdoing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Father.”

Seteth kept his silence for an admirable half-minute. Flayn’s gaze did not waver. He sighed.

“I am sorry that I have upset you, Professor.”

“Excellent. Professor, we will meet at dawn on the week’s end.” She hurried to the doorway. “I will hear no more on this.”

As she left, Seteth reflected on his failure. He was certain that his wife, from where she resided with the Goddess and with a sentiment the Goddess herself must certainly have shared, was looking upon him with great shame. He had not been able to shelter his daughter from inevitable disappointment, nor had he honored the memory of his own impeccable match. That pleasure which is the birthright of the children of Zanado would not be hers.

Not all was lost, he assured himself. Whether in the course of their relationship or after the mere moment of this woman’s life, Flayn would realize her dissatisfaction with the faint libidinal energy of man. She would seek something not easily found. She would need a lover who appears once in an age, a yet unborn hero of the kind dimly reflected in the tawdy romance novels Flayn was now conscientiously avoiding, a sure sign of her growing maturity. When that maturity blossomed, when she needed a crusader for that imperious quest, Saint Cichole would surely come.

SAINT CICHOLE WILL RETURN

_in_

THE OCTOPUS-MEN OF DEEPEST AGARTHA


End file.
